


Santa Baby

by oneforyourfire



Series: The Adventures of Big Boy and His Tiny Love [3]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Facial, Frottage, M/M, santa suit kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:52:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is it because I've been naughty, Santa?" he breathes, and Yifan swallows hard. "Because I can be good. On the good list just for you. Can earn it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Santa Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Torontok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torontok/gifts).



Yifan plops onto their ugly, uncomfortable couch, exhausted and entirely put out, and Jongdae falls into his lap almost immediately after, laughing, touching, nuzzling into Yifan's fake white beard even though it's itchy and smells like stale coffee.

And Yifan, after tonight's debacle with the twins—Tao, he’d cried because Baba hadn’t seen Santa Claus and did that mean that Baba wasn’t getting any presents, it didn't, right, it couldn't, right because Baba was a good dad, he wasn't on the naughty list, right, and Tao's increasingly frantic questions, later crying had set off Sehun's, Jongdae needing to intervene as Yifan stumbled out still fully clothed—after this incidence, and later instances, later debacles as he'd stumbled to visit the apartments across the hall because the Abdul and Gutierrez and Park family also needed a visit from Santa, were also excited to see him even if they're crying, Yifan's not exactly in the mood. For any of this.

Jongdae, though, is doing an amazing job of distracting him from his foul mood, or otherwise replacing it with something better, hotter. The familiar curl of lazy, lazy arousal, sharper, clearer, heavier with every languid, insistent touch of Jongdae's body against his. All small, smooth grinds, breathless hums, he drags his nose across Yifan's jawline, his fingers sliding down Yifan's tense sides, thumbs teasing at the fabric there before digging hard, molding into the skin to graze over his name, his mark. The location familiar even through all of Yifan's awful, uncomfortable layers. Yifan's fingers fist into the ugly floral upholstery of their couch—it gives our living room character, Jongdae had argued the night they’d found it at Goodwill, and you can’t beat $10, Yifan, _Jesus_ —as he watches Jongdae, willing to let his husband do what he pleases.

It's cursory sort of exploration and appraisal, Yifan still found good enough, if the hot, drugging skitter of Jongdae's eyes is anything to go by. Slow, slow, slow.

And slow, too, not entirely unwelcome, lust heats down Yifan's spine, warmer, more potent with every lazy drag of Jongdae's painfully hot breath against his throat.

Jongdae is entirely too good this, Yifan sufficiently distracted, pliant and willing, the ugly costume, itchy beard be damned.

Jongdae shifts just slightly on his lap, fingers tickling over his ribs as his warm, wet mouth drags across Yifan's cheekbone. A meandering path towards Yifan's parted lips, and Jongdae lingers there, grazing first top, then bottom, one corner and then the other. Hot and teasing, too damn light, coaxing Yifan into kissing first. Slow and soft. "I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus," Jongdae drawls, pulling just slightly away, the words grazing Yifan's parted lips.

And the reminder—teasing and warm, as it is—has Yifan grumbling, turning his cheek childishly to the side, trying to pick Jongdae up and off.

But Jongdae is firm, insistent arms wrapping his shoulders, his full—slight, slight—weight resting on Yifan’s tense thighs. Unperturbed, he tries again, mouthing softly at the corner of Yifan's parted lips. Hot and wet and just just just perfect enough to have Yifan's eyelashes fluttering.

He's wearing his reading glasses tonight, just got back from soothing the children to sleep, and the twinkling Christmas lights are glowing across the wire frames, the material cool against Yifan's heated skin as Jongdae moves again, dragging his tongue lengthwise down the column of Yifan's throat.

He lets out a little puff of amusement, so wonderfully hot. "Saw Daddy _necking_ Santa Claus." He underscores the remark with a lazy nip, the faintest scrape of small, straight teeth.

Yifan, just to be contrary, swallows down the needy moan threatening to crawl up his throat. Resolving, he tries to ease Jongdae off once more.

Jongdae relents only slightly, tilting so his ass drags against Yifan’s knees, eyes too bright behind his lenses, teasing and glittering and hot. He catches Yifan's gaze, holds it for a hot, heavy, heavy beat.

 _Entirely_ too good.

"Like sitting on your lap, Santa. Hmm, Santa Baby," he starts, smooth and painfully low, rolling his hips down once, twice, his fingers meanwhile sliding upwards to scrape over the nape of Yifan's neck, tease at the collar of his awful, awful costume. "Just slip a sable under the tree for me." A bite to his lip, a poorly-concealed smirk. "Been an awful good boy." A perfunctory tug at the hair peeking out from beneath the brim of Yifan’s Christmas hat, and Yifan bites back a whimper this time. But just, just barely.

"Bad," Yifan counters, voice wavering, "Not—not good."

And Jongdae laughs, loud, brash, so much. But solid and strong, Jongdae still feel so slight, so fragile even in his arms, pressing him down like this.

"But Santa baby, think of all the fun I've missed," he continues, darkly deferential. "All the _cocks_ I haven't kissed. Next year, I could be just—"

And Yifan glides forward to kiss him quiet, then, Jongdae still somehow managing to hum into it, the tune only slightly pitchy and off as Yifan relents, drags him full on top. He arches, pushes him into it so Jongdae can feel—that he's already halfway to hard, _of course_ he is. And he is rewarded with a breathy moan, the drag of Jongdae's own cock against his. Once, twice.

"This cock," Jongdae manages to breathe—breathless—"This cock is my favorite to kiss, Santa Baby." He emphasizes the point with a rolling motion of his hips, small, tight, and oh so perfect, and Yifan quells a heavy shudder. Jongdae moans open and persuasive, repeats the gesture, panting into the charged air between their parted lips.

So, so, unbearably good at this.

Jongdae laughs as Yifan squeezes tight at his waist in retaliation. Jongdae body is small, tight, beneath his palms, warm and oddly pliant. "Santa baby," he continues, "don't you want to kiss Daddy again?" And he's further perverting children's song with a lip bite on the last syllable. "Hmm, maybe even fuck his mouth?"

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

“Daddy,” Yifan jokes, breathless, stalling, and Jongdae shudders once—brief, hot. Oh, oh, _oh_.

“Yes, Daddy. Daddy blowing Santa Claus.” His hands are dancing once more. Down, down, down, a lazy meandering path, but there's a certain heartstuttering intent in his dark, hot, hot gaze. "Being so fucking _good_ for Santa Baby and earning his right to come."

"Jongdae," Yifan warns. "Jongdae-yah." Jongdae maybe almost tenses, the Korean briefly distracting, but he recovers quickly enough, further complicating Yifan's breathing in the next instance, tearing at his resolve with another slow, slow roll of his sinful hips.

"Is it because I've been naughty, Santa?" he breathes, and Yifan swallows hard. "Because I can be good. On the good list just for you. Can earn it." A gasp—Jongdae's—on the next writhe. "Daddy blowing Santa Claus, maybe. Daddy asking Santa Claus to come in his mouth."

And they haven’t done this since the twins learned to walk. Haven't _risked_ it.

Tempted as he is by the liquid desire in Jongdae’s dark eyes, he gropes weakly at the strands near the base of Jongdae’s skull, chiding, grounding, and Jongdae arches into it with a ruined hum, his nimble fingers digging into Yifan with a whisper of starched, itchy fabric.

“Our children,” he manages, and Jongdae’s eyes flash up to his, clearness blooming there, overwhelming the haze of lust. Clarity, enough for Jongdae to pause with a heavy flutter of his eyelashes, a heavier bite to his lip, heaviest yet—his exhale, hot, rushed, and more than vaguely ashamed. The hands at the waistband of Yifan's pants flutter with something akin to nervousness now, still nimble and restless but not in teasing, no in distress.

“I know it’s...risky,” he confesses, holding his gaze for another beat before swallowing, sliding forward to press the words into Yifan’s chin, mouth absently there. “But I just, I just really want to blow you right now, Yifan. Wanna—wanna grind against you until I come. If we’re quick,” he breathes, cajoling, oh so tantalizing, just just just slightly ashamed, “If we’re quiet, we'll be okay, Yifan ge." His fingers skating in a slow, slow exploration, Yifan's strained pants, his straining cock. "They’re sound asleep.” Jongdae's voice, fingers drop, and Yifan moans. "I want to make you come so _badly_ , Santa Baby."

It’s sloppier than he’s used to, sloppier than it has been a while, reminiscent of when they were both in college, sneaking quickies in between classes, term papers, rushed and hushed and hot while Jongdae’s roommate was away. Efficient and wet and so so so good. Jongdae sliding to his knees without preamble, tugging Yifan's pants and underwear only enough to get at what he needs, then coaxing Yifan into full hardness with the eager curl of his tongue, enthusiastic glide of his mouth.

Lip caught between his teeth, fingers threaded through warm, soft hair, setting fogged up glasses askew, Yifan thrusts experimentally into Jongdae’s mouth, and Jongdae gasps in encouragement, mouth wonderfully pliant though still suctioned tight, just just just exactly right.

Implicit permission to set the pace. Faster, harder, even sloppier.

Yifan catches against Jongdae's trembling, red, red lips on every wonderful retreat, watching himself disappear into Jongdae’s willing mouth over and over and over again, biting back moans at every smooth, liquid drag, that beautifully wet warmth skating faster, faster, faster, harder, harder, harder.

Quick, quiet, the way that Jongdae proposed, Yifan fucks into his warm, wet mouth, thighs tense, eyelids heavy, teeth boring into his bottom lip to keep any traitorous sounds from spilling forth. The heat is pooling low in his belly, climbing higher and higher, informing his movements, making him needy, demanding, maybe almost violent with his desire. And Jongdae gasps, moans—almost, almost too loud—because he likes it when Yifan loses himself, likes it when he tugs too hard, thrusts too hard. Jongdae likes big movements, big hands tangled in his hair, big big big boys needy and rough with their pleasure.

Jongdae is pitching so that Yifan can see how aroused he is, too, hard against the fabric of his special occasion dress pants. Weddings, Parent-Teacher conferences, his parents' birthdays, and _this_. Debasing something innocent for the sake of his pleasure, too.

And Yifan is burning, alternately tearing at the seams, just barely holding on, staying quiet, when Jongdae pulls back, gasping and ruined and trembling, to ask if Yifan wants to come on his face. Tearing off his glasses when Yifan whimpers out a _yes please_.

Jongdae blinks up at him through teary eyelashes, bruised, parted lips, disheveled hair, the most sinfully marred beauty, and Yifan only has to jerk himself two times before he's marring it further, staining it with his release.

The white glitters the cut of his cheek, puffed swell of his lips, and Jongdae hums—pitchy and strained—as he licks what he can into his mouth, tongue curling lazily, neck lolling back wantonly.

"Babe," Yifan whispers, reverent, apologetic, reaching forward to cradle his jawline, wipe the excess off his sharp, sharp cheekbone. Jongdae smiles, presses it into Yifan’s wrist, shifts to suck his finger into his mouth, sucking languidly.

"Good?" he whispers against his skin, voice gorgeously rough.

Yifan pulls his thumb free but presses into the ruined plushness of Jongdae's lips once, watching the slow, heavy bob of Jongdae's throat as he swallows.

"Santa Baby," he manages.

He's still so helplessly turned on, Yifan knows—can fucking _see_ it—but he is waiting for Yifan to act first.

He does, pulling him up none-too-gently, clumsy and just slightly rough, for Jongdae's sake. And Jongdae moans as he lands on his lap with a harsh rush of breath, ruts down On Yifan's thigh immediately after.

Yifan meanwhile kisses over his neck, sucking and biting and licking as he bunches Jongdae's ugly Christmas sweater up towards his armpits, fingers skating over warm soft skin, before teasing over his ribs, his nipples just to hear Jongdae pant and moan.

Jongdae angles his hips purposefully on the next grind, fucking shudders, entire body tensing as he bites back a loud whine.

“Want me to,” Yifan asks, delicately, hands sliding back to Jongdae's waist, thumb teasing over the waistband of his pants, and Jongdae shakes his head hard. “Just just like this,” he argues instead, twisting to press down again, the hard, hard outline of his cock skating over Yifan's thighs in a way that has Yifan gasping, too. “This is so fucking hot, Yifan. Fuck, stay still and let me just—"

Angle decided, he rocks down harder, nearly bucking, throat bobbing as he swallows down a heavy moan.

And in the end, it’s Jongdae that needs quieting, a series of deliciously high moans escaping his lips before Yifan tugs him into a messy, messy kiss.

Wresting for control, Jongdae is trying to get a grip at Yifan's hair through the raspy material of his hat, his fingers twisting in the fabric, tugging at Yifan's hair by proxy, and Yifan gasps, pushes up harder as Jongdae pushes down, dragging on every retreat, his thigh skating harder and harder across the heavy weight of Jongdae's cock, his balls

Jongdae whimpers into his mouth, and Yifan closes his hands around his hips, holds him steady, guides his pace, Jongdae’s moans increasingly breathless.

He swallows them down, heady dizzy on the taste of them as Jongdae stumbles closer and closer to the edge. Sloppier, clumsier, louder with it, tugging at Yifan's hair as hard as he can to remind Yifan to be hard, fast, too.

And oh, Jongdae was right. This is fucking hot.

Jongdae bites into Yifan’s throat, quaking almost violently as he comes into his pants, every tense, tense muscle going lax as he claws at Yifan through the intensity of it.

Yifan cradles him closer, appreciating his smallness once more, and Jongdae nuzzles further into him, willing and warm as he recovers.

He laughs breathlessly, the sound strained and oh so beautiful, stamped into Yifan’s neck. “Fuck, I love you,” he whispers, and Yifan smiles as he always does, filled with warmth as he always.

"Me, too," Yifan whispers in Korean.

Painfully sentimental, he pulls back enough to kiss Jongdae’s nose, and Jongdae huffs out another laugh, head limp and rolling to the side, the moles on his throat jumping as he does. His hair is tousled, cheeks flushed red, eyes so warm. Beautiful in his satiation. “Big boy cheeseball,” he breathes, cradling Yifan's cheek. His other hand meanwhile drags absently through the wrinkled fabric of Yifan's Santa suit. "My Santa Baby."

And _oh_ , oh yes.

“This was a rental,” Yifan notes softly, melting into Jongdae's palm. “We’ve ruined it.”

Jongdae hums in acknowledgement, eyelashes fluttering as he regards Yifan with a long, lazy look. Too hot, considering he just came.

“Since we’re definitely buying it now," Jongdae breathes, head lolling back as his lips round and pop obscenely, plush and pink and still so kiss-swollen, cock-sucking-swollen,"let’s ruin it even more."

"A kink?" Yifan laughs.

Jongdae tugs on his bobbypinned hat once more, pulling it completely off, his fingers skating over his scalp, getting a good enough grip to tug _hard_. Just exactly how Yifan likes, it has him gasping—too, too loud. "You have no idea," Jongdae rasps, dragging him purposefully, by the scalp, towards the bedroom.


End file.
